dismissive arch. “I did tell you that the English take that sort of thing so very seriously.”
Kate knew that she should respond to the barb with a cool smile. However, she couldn’t help but shoot back with a sharp retort. “I am American.”
Another pause. “How quaint.” After subjecting her to a more lengthy scrutiny, the baroness heaved an audible sigh. “Tell me, what does your father do, seeing as Americans are all so tedious as to insist on working for a living?”
“Actually, he was a pirate.”
For an instant, the baroness’s mask of sardonic superiority slipped. But she quickly recovered. “Then you won’t mind if I steal your husband away for a short while.” The baroness tapped her ivory-handled fan to Marco’s sleeve. “Come, schatze. There are some other old friends who wish to see you.”
Schatze? Kate tried not to scowl as she silently repeated the endearment. Marco was no kitten—but the lady was certainly wearing a cat-in-the-creampot smile.
He offered his arm. “But of course. Kate is quite capable of amusing herself while I am gone.”
“Of course,” she muttered, watching them move away through the crowd. Spearing another glass of champagne, she took a long swallow, hoping to drown the tiny tongue of fire licking up in her belly.
Don’t. Don’t be a fool. Their marriage vows were a mere formality—Marco had never promised to be faithful.
“How very churlish of your escort to abandon such a beautiful lady, even for a moment.”
Kate whirled around as a touch of soft leather brushed along her bare arm. “Allow me to keep you company, Madame…” The gentleman’s voice trailed off in question.
“Wood—” she began, then quickly corrected herself. “I am Contessa della Ghiradelli,” she replied, finding that saying the fancy name helped steady her self-esteem. Determined to appear as smooth and sophisticated as the swishing silks around her, Kate flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile.
“Enchanté, contessa. C’est vraiment un plaisir de faire votre connaissance.” The gentleman lifted her hand to his lips. He spoke flawless French, yet Kate’s keen ear detected a slight Slavic accent. “Andrei Jackowski at your service.” At the last moment, he turned her wrist and feathered a kiss just above the hem of her glove.
“You are Polish, sir?” she asked.
He shrugged a well-tailored shoulder and switched to English. “That is difficult to say these days. What with so many countries intent on carving up the country of my birth into tiny slices, I feel more like a morsel of pigeon, baked in a tasty pie.”
Kate immediately warmed to his tart sense of humor. “Do not the English support an independent Duchy of Warsaw?”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Jackowski with mock amazement. “A lady who actually has an interest in the politics of this conference, not just the gossip and dalliances?”
“I do have a brain as well as a bosom,” murmured Kate.
“And it appears to be just as well-developed,” he replied, letting his gaze drop to her décolletage.
She felt herself growing a little warm. Her gown was not nearly as revealing as that of the baroness, nor were her charms as prominent. But nonetheless, it was nice to be admired.
“I am not sure that is quite a proper comment for a gentleman to make.”
“Neither am I,” he replied, gold-flecked sparks of amusement lighting his chocolate-brown eyes. He signaled for a waiter to refill her champagne glass, along with his own. “However, I hope that you won’t hold my words against me. I should very much like to entice you to take a stroll with me while your friend is otherwise occupied.”
Despite all the distractions, Kate had not lost sight of her mission. A walk through the galleries was exactly what she had in mind, and Jackowski might prove useful in identifying the different delegations.
“I should like that very much,” she said slowly, setting her hand on his sleeve.
“Excellent.” He pressed a little closer, his thigh kissing hers as they crossed through an arched alcove. “Pardon,” he murmured. “It is, as you English say, quite a crush.”
Kate didn’t bother to point out that they had the narrow space all to themselves. If flirtation was part of the game, she would play it to the hilt. “Might we take a peek at the ballroom?” she asked, edging toward one of the balconies. “I have never seen such pomp and pageantry.”
“Is this your first time in Vienna?” asked Jackowski politely.
“Yes,” she said, staring intently at the dancers on the floor below.
“Ah, no wonder you appear fascinated by it all.” He fell silent as the stately